Sweet Dreams
by Fourthirtyam
Summary: My first fanfic. Hogan and the gang learn that sleeping in can be dangerous. Please read and review.
1. Rude Awakening

**Sweet Dreams**

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter One: Rude Awakening

Colonel Robert E. Hogan turned over in his bunk and tried to figure out what was wrong. Yes, he was still in Stalag 13 – no one would dream about this place unless it was a nightmare – and it was still the dead of winter, which meant the air trapped inside his private room was ice cold. He looked around his room, seeing nothing out of place – and, being the fastidious person he was, he would have noticed if anything had been moved. He didn't even remember going to sleep last night, and he realized, with some annoyance, that he hadn't changed out of his clothes before he did.

The only sound was that of snoring outside of his door.

But something was wrong. He knew it, felt it deep inside of him. Picking up his watch, he glanced at the time – and shot bolt upright in bed. It was ten o'clock in the morning! What in the world had happened to roll call, and how had he – and his men – come to oversleep so much?

He rose, still feeling the cobwebs of oversleep befuddle his brain. Pulling on his leather bomber jacket from chair where he had placed it the night before, he walked into the room where his men lay, sleeping the sleep of the dead.

The sleep of the dead – not funny, Rob, he told himself. What was the matter with him this morning?

"Guys," he croaked, feeling his throat was tight and parched. He coughed to clear it and tried again. "Hey, wake up!"

One by one, his men blinked awake, sitting up in their bunks, tousle-headed and bleary eyed. "Hey, Colonel, what's the matter?" Sergeant Andrew Carter asked. "I mean, was I ever asleep, boy – I mean, sir."

"I don't know, Andrew, but something's wrong. Maybe it's just my watch. What time do you have, Kinch?"

The sergeant, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, reached for his own watch. His eyes opened wide. "Ten oh-five, Colonel. What the hell?"

Corporal Peter Newkirk yawned and stretched, contorting his entire body as he did so. "Hey, the Krauts gave us a nice lie-in for once, guv'ner. I feel like I've been asleep for days!"

"Yeah, I'm still groggy, Colonel – and my throat's all scratchy," Kinch said.

"Blimey, Colonel, I don't even remember going to sleep last night – and I'm still dressed here!" Newkirk grumbled, stifling another yawn.

A snore made them all look over at the bunk where the small Frenchman, Louis LeBeau, still lay sleeping, a dried line of spittle decorating his cheek. Taking two steps, Hogan walked over and shook him. "Louis – Louis, wake up!" he urged.

But the Frenchman merely muttered in his sleep, turned over, and snored again.

"Something's wrong," Hogan said, moving away and picking up a coffee cup and smelling the contents. "Peter, get over there and wake Louis up. Kinch, do you feel a little…"

"…sick to my stomach? Sure do, Colonel. What do you think – tranquilizers?"

"Ya mean the Krauts slipped us a mickey, Colonel?" Carter asked, indignantly.

"Colonel, Louis won't wake up!" Newkirk cried out, in a slow kind of panic.

Hogan shook his head to try and clear it of the feeling of fog that was still troubling him, and stepped back to the bunk. "Hold him upright, Newkirk," he said. Newkirk half shoved the small man into a sitting position, cradling him in his arms to keep him from slipping back down. With a swift motion, Hogan slapped first one cheek and then the other. Le Beau's eyes flew open, but threatened to close again. Hogan slapped him one more time, and Le Beau pushed back against Newkirk's restraining hands, sputtering.

"Mon Dieu, whazzup wid… stop id…" he slurred.

"Sorry, Louis – but I think it's better if you wake up. Listen, all of you get to the other bunks, get everyone who's in bed out of bed. Everyone needs to be up and walking around. If you need to, take pails of cold water with you. Something's really wrong here – I don't know what the goons are up to, but if they put the whole camp under, it can't be anything good. I'm not even sure what day this is. I'm going to Klink's office to find out what's going on. Louis – you awake now?"

"Umm – uh – oui, I am. I'll start some coffee going. Mon Dieu, what a sleep I had!"

"What a sleep we all had… but why and for how long is the real question!" Hogan slung his crush cap onto his head, and opened the door wide. The cold January air stung his cheeks, but he welcomed the stimulant of the cold, for he still felt slightly sick and light-headed. Determinedly, he walked across the deserted compound to Klink's office.


	2. The Plot Thickens

Chapter Two: The Plot Thickens 

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

As he walked across the iron-cold ground, Hogan felt an even greater sense of unease unfurling inside him, as he realized none of the regular guards were on duty. As he walked up the short flight of stairs to the Kommandant's office, he saw Sergeant Hans Schultz slumped against the front door, his rifle held loosely in pudgy fingers resting limply on his lap, his mouth contorted and sniffling and snoring noises issuing forth. Picking his way over Schultz's beached whale of a body without stopping to wake him, Hogan let himself into the outer office.

Silence. Helga wasn't there.

Hogan shook his head once again. Damn this overpowering feeling of grogginess! He turned the door to the Kommandant's office…

…and was brought up short by the sight of Major Wolfgang Hochstetter of the Gestapo sitting serenely behind Klink's desk.

Alarm bells rang a muffled chorus in Hogan's head, but he simply was not awake enough to figure out what could be happening. It was surreal. He felt, he thought, like Alice in Wonderland, just having gone through the rabbit hole.

"Why, come in, come in, Colonel Hogan!" Hochstetter cried out, his genial greeting chilling Hogan even more than the brutal winds outside. "You are a full hour ahead of schedule! Now, why doesn't that surprise me, I wonder…?"

As Hogan moved warily into the office, he noticed another man – a stranger, wearing a lab coat – standing at the window. The man turned and looked Hogan up and down, scrutinizing him carefully. "With your permission, Major?" he asked, moving forward and taking a stethoscope from the pocket of his coat.

"Certainly, certainly!" Hochstetter cried, waving an expansive hand toward Hogan. "Hogan, Dr. Schmedler is going to examine you now."

"The hell he is," Hogan growled, moving awkwardly out of reach. "Hochstetter, what's going on here? Where's Klink?"

"Your beloved Kom-man-dant is all cozy in bed, Hogan, sleeping like a baby," the small, black uniformed man crooned, a huge and frightening grin lighting up his puffy face. "One of my men tucked him in nice and tight. Speaking of which…Johann!" he bellowed, turning to the door. In an instant, an SS guard stood there, his weapon pointed straight at Hogan.

"You will permit Dr. Schmedler to examine you, Hogan," Hochstetter drawled. "I insist upon it."

"I promise I won't hurt you, Colonel," the man said, giggling a little frenetically, sidling up along side of Hogan. "I just want to listen to your heart and lungs a moment."

With the gun pointed directly at his midsection, Hogan had no choice in the matter. At the doctor's direction, he unbuttoned his shirt. He let the doctor ply the stethoscope on his body, noticing with distaste the man's bitter breath on his cheek as he leaned in and the fact that he left his clammy hands on his chest for a moment longer than necessary.

"Remarkable – a remarkable specimen…" Schmedler said. "In tip-top shape, Hochstetter."

"Interesting how he maintains such condition as a prisoner in a POW camp, hmmm?" Hochstetter murmured. "With these rations and lack of exercise, eh, Colonel?"

"I owe it all to dancing with the guys to Tommy Dorsey records," Hogan said, falling back on his usual comic routine to disguise his acute apprehension. "All right, Hochstetter, the man's pawed me enough. What's going on here?"

"Johann, go and wake Colonel Klink, _mach schnell_!" Hochstetter commanded.

"He may not be able to," Schmedler said, reaching into his doctor's bag and bringing out a box from which he extracted a small glass bottle. He picked up one of Klink's crystal glasses, sitting on a tray with Schnapps on the top of the filing cabinet, and carefully measured out an eyedropper full of a greenish liquid. "Here," he said, handing it over to the guard, "put some water in this and have him drink it."

Schmedler looked over at Hogan, whose eyebrows had raised as he watched this. "You might want half a drop yourself, Hogan," he giggled. "You're still probably feeling rather – oh, shall we say, light-headed?"

"Well, I don't usually indulge this early in the day, but…what is that stuff, anyway?" Hogan asked.

"Always the comedian, hey, Hogan?" Hochstetter interposed, looking over at the doctor whose mouth snapped shut at the Gestapo officer's sudden intense glare.

"Well, I mean, I usually like to know what I'm being offered, Major – you know, as a common, _human_ instinct."

"Yes, well…ah, here is Colonel Klink, now! My dear Colonel, I hope you don't mind that I've been using your desk – hmm, for the last three days, now!"

_Three days!_ The thought made Hogan's blood run cold. Had Hochstetter actually managed to knock out the entire camp for three days?

Klink, still half-asleep, stood in the doorway, the tie of his dressing gown dragging on the floor, and his face creased with drowsiness. "Major, what… what are you doing here? Hogan, what's going on?"

"Funny, that's what I came here to ask you, sir," Hogan said, moving forward to pull Klink into the room and help him into a chair. "I woke up at 10 o'clock this morning – no roll call – my men all still asleep – and you and your men too, apparently."

"I don't understand…" Klink murmured, yawning widely. "The last thing I remember is I was at my desk, going through some paperwork… how did I get to bed?"

"According to the Major here, that was three days ago, Colonel. Personally, I find it hard to believe that he simply took over your command for that long while we all slept." _Come on_, Hogan thought desperately, _wake up, Klink and find out what's going on here_!

"Three days…_nein_, that is not possible…" Klink sputtered.

Hochstetter picked up a small stack of newspapers that were sitting on a corner of the desk, and handed them over to Klink, who leaned forward to take them. Klink's eyes grew wide as he quickly scanned the dates in all three.

"_Donnerwetter_ – this is some kind of joke!" Klink said, handing the papers over to Hogan.

Hogan turned to Schmedler. "How did you do it? Knock-out drops in the water supply?"

Schmedler giggled. "Why, you are so quick, Colonel. _Das gut_!"

"What did I tell you, Doctor – this is the most dangerous man in all of Nazi Germany! But not for the last few days – not while we used Stalag 13 as a staging base for… ah, well," he sneered, "I nearly forgot. That's classified."

At this point, Hogan didn't need any further stimulant to wake up. The thought that the SS had walked into camp, knocked him and his men out – and Klink's men as well – and then, right under their noses, had done – what? What could it be?

Hochstetter was scrutinizing Hogan closely, the mocking light clearly evident in his twinkling eyes. "Why, Hogan, I'm surprised you haven't mentioned the Geneva Convention yet!"

"Now that you mention it, Major…" Hogan drawled.

"You mean to tell me," Klink said, yawning again, "that you put me and my men to sleep for three whole days? How – how…mmm…" he had to blink hard to keep his eyes from closing. "…dare…"

"Yes, how dare you!" Hogan said, trying hard to goad the colonel into greater indignation. "What if one of my men had escaped while Klink – the iron colonel himself – was asleep?"

"Hah!" Hochstetter laughed. "How could they have done so, when they were all busy sleeping themselves?"

"To say nothing of the Geneva Convention – why, you poisoned us!" Hogan said, watching Klink slump forward in his chair and almost fall out of it as he wrestled with the impulse to sleep again.

"We… we'll… see what General… Gen… Burk…halter… sezzzz…" Klink gave up the struggle and let his eyes shut, putting his head forward back against the wall.

"Obviously _not_ a man in good condition," Schmedler said.

"You could have killed someone," Hogan said, ignoring the major and addressing the doctor.

But the major was the one to answer. "Only the very small men need worry about that, Hogan, at least until we increase the dosage."

The very small men – Hogan thought of how much harder it had been to wake Le Beau up, and shuddered inside. "What do you mean, increase the dosage? What are you doing all this for, anyway, Major?"

But the Major waved him away. "Get out, Hogan, I'm done amusing myself with you today."

"When Klink wakes up, he's going to call Burkhalter, you know," Hogan said.

"Yah, and Burkhalter will say he knows all about it," Hochstetter said genially. "When he was told about this experiment, he just laughed and said it would be interesting to see if there was any difference in Klink's running of the camp – you know, between sleeping and waking!"

A long strand of drool came out of the Kommandant's mouth and he snorted in his sleep. If the entire situation hadn't been so dire, it would have been funny, Hogan thought, as he turned on his heel and left the office.


	3. Assessing the Damage

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Three: Assessing the Damage 

"Blimey, Colonel, we were asleep for three whole days?" Newkirk exclaimed, as Hogan walked through the door to Barracks 3. Hogan nodded, knowing his men would have sat huddled around the coffee pot they used as a listening device, wire tapping Klink's office, carefully eavesdropping on the chilling conversation. He put a finger up to his lips, then started checking that their barracks hadn't been bugged. Kinch, seeing what he was doing, helped him finish the check efficiently and quickly. No bugs.

"It's a doozy of a situation, boy – I mean, sir," Carter chimed in. "I mean…wow!"

"What are we going to do about it, Colonel?" Kinch asked, quietly.

Hogan raised his hand to quiet the men, and, as he did, he saw Louis LeBeau sitting on the edge of his cot, his face in his hands. He moved over to him.

"You okay, Louis?"

The small French corporal picked up his head. "_Non, mon colonel_ – I cannot get rid of the ringing in my head, and I feel…I can't feel my legs. I can move them and all, but they're all, how you say, pins and needles. And my hands are the same way."

"Hochshtetter said something about the effect the drug has on smaller guys, Louis. Newkirk, can you get Wilson over here to check him out?"

"Sure can, guv'nor," Newkirk said, draping his scarf over his neck before heading out into the cold of the compound.

As soon as the door shut, Kinch looked again at his commander. Hogan was leaning against the lockers, his eyes half-shuttered, arms loosely knit across his chest. Kinch could almost hear the gears turning inside the man's head. He heard Carter begin to pose a question and quickly signaled that he should desist, indicating the colonel with a snap of his head. Carter nodded, and turned instead to LeBeau.

"Maybe you and I should go for a walk, Louie, see if the cold air helps."

The two of them left, and Kinch settled down into a chair thinking hard, but mostly keeping one eye on his commanding officer. Minutes passed.

"The biggest problem is water," Hogan finally said. "What's the weather forecast, Kinch?"

"I can get onto London and find out," the radioman said. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Yeah, give them an update and ask them what's been happening over the last three lost days. Maybe we can figure out what Hochstetter's been up to from that."

"Okay, Colonel," Kinch said and disappeared down into the tunnel.

Hogan straightened up and feeling sick to his stomach again, went to pour himself a cup of coffee. But before he could drink it, he stopped himself, picked up as many of the half full cups as he could, and went to the door of the barracks. He poured the remains of the coffee cups into the snow, looking up to see Newkirk, Carter, and Wilson surrounding the small French corporal, who was talking quickly and gesturing into the air.

"Wilson!" Hogan called. "Would you come here when you're done with Le Beau?"

"Sure thing, Colonel," the medic called back, his face grim. In a few moments, he reported to his commanding officer.

"What's happening with the rest of the men? Anyone else affected like Le Beau?"

"Davidson, over in Barracks 8, and Barnet in Barracks 17. Both are small, slight men. Your guys tell me that's a problem."

"Yeah. Best I can figure it, they've put in enough junk to knock out big guys like Schultz – and it's too much for someone who's small and doesn't weigh a lot. What's happening to them physically?"

"Dehydration and these strange heart palpitations are the two things I'm most worried about. If this keeps up, we could see one of these smaller guys having a heart attack."

Hogan thought hard for a minute. "The Krauts mentioned putting the mickey into the water supply, and I'm taking some measures to prevent that. If the weather cooperates, that is. But they could basically put this in anything, right?"

"If we could a hold of some of it, Colonel – maybe we could tell more about it. But I'm a medic, not a chemist."

"Maybe Carter could help a little there. Okay, we'll see what we can do." Hogan turned to see Kinch standing at his shoulder. "What'd London say?" he asked, walking back inside.

"The good news is that there's going to be a blizzard tomorrow night. At least, I think that's good news?"

Hogan nodded.

"But they have no idea what Hochshtetter might be up to, or of anything unusual happening in this area over the last few days. They'd like us to find out, though."

Hogan snorted. "Sure they would. Maybe they'd like us to tie up the war in a nice little bow and make them a Christmas present, too?"

"Yeah, right," Kinch shrugged. "With Hitler and Goering singing carols in the background."

Hogan laughed, putting his arm around the radioman. "Okay, here's what we're going to do…"


	4. Preparations

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

**Chapter Four: Preparations**

London was right. It was a blizzard. While the guards stood, miserably shivering at their posts, it was almost impossible for them to see more than a few feet in front of their faces. But they could not imagine anyone moving around voluntarily in the storm, so they huddled deep into their heavy coats, stamped their feet to keep warm, and stolidly waited until their shift was over.

What they did not see was Hogan's men – the entire camp, in fact – busily gathering snow in every receptacle they could lay their hands on. The POWs put out buckets, basins, cups, bowls, and barrels. Once they were full, they brought them down to the tunnels beneath the camp. Hogan had pulled every available craftsman off their various projects to manufacture long troughs of metal and wood. The prisoners dumped the fresh snow into the troughs.

It was a long, cold, miserable night. But by the time it was over, the men had collected several hundred gallons of snow.

"Make sure the guys know," Hogan told Kinch and Newkirk, "nobody drinks anything that isn't made from our private water supply.

"You got it, guv'ner," Newkirk said, rubbing his chafed hands together. "Hey, Louie, how about a nice warm cuppa?"

"Right away," LeBeau said, hustling for the kettle. But Hogan put a hand out.

"Listen, fellas, we're going to have to ration the water supply. We have no idea how long this is going to last. Everyone gets a quart a day, no more. And that includes whatever Louie uses to cook with."

"A quart a day! That's barely enough to wet the old whistle!" Newkirk complained. But then he took one look at his commanding officer and shrugged. "But we'll make do, colonel."

"Make sure you do, Newkirk. In fact, I think I'll put you in charge of rationing out the water to the men."

"Blimey, I'm a dead man," Newkirk said cheerfully.

"And Newkirk?" the Colonel added. "You also get to make sure we don't start a black market in water trading around here."

"Why, the thought would never had crossed my mind, guv'ner" Newkirk said, pretending to be insulted. When Hogan looked over at him, eyebrows raised, he just laughed.

Hogan slowly ate dinner that evening, wrapped in thought. His men knew to leave him alone when he was in this type of reverie. They laughed and joked with one another, teasing Newkirk in his new role as Water Monitor. Someone made him a dunce cap out of an old newspaper and wrote those words on it. The others teased him that he had to wear it when he was on the job. He loftily ignored their jibes, gently putting the cap down on the table before him.

"I'll save it for the first bloke I discover breaking the rules," he said. "Could be any one of you mates…"

Hogan's lips pursed. Kinch, who had been watching him out of one corner of his eye as he listened to the others' horseplay, asked. "What, Colonel?"

"We need a canary," Hogan sighed.

"I used to have a canary," said Carter. "It was my Uncle Simon's. My uncle was a sailor. Very noisy bird. Very rude."

"You mean a parrot, don't you, Andrew?" Newkirk asked.

"Right. A parrot. Silly me."

"Why a canary, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"Like in a mine. We need to know if we're supposed to fall asleep or not. Pretend to, anyway."

"So the canary falls asleep and the rest of us pretend to knock off?" Kinch nodded.

"And then we figure out what's going on around here."

"Why can't the filthy Boche be our canary?" Le Beau asked, indignant. "Why must it be one of us?"

"Think about it, Louie. They won't knock off the guards until we're asleep in our beds. It's got to be one of us. And someone's got to watch him at all times."

"I'll do it, Colonel," Kinch volunteered.

"No, I need you to man the radio. And it can't be Carter in case we need any incendiary help. And Louis can't do it."

"Hey!" Newkirk cried. "I'm already the ruddy water monitor!"

Hogan reached over, grabbed the dunce cap, and scribbled something on it before plunking it onto Newkirk's head. The men looked at it and laughed. Newkirk grabbed it and held it at arm's length.

"Water Monitor and Very Rude Canary. Oh, bloody charming," he said.


	5. Falling Asleep

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Five: Falling Asleep 

It took another two anxious weeks and another lucky snow fall before the Germans spiked their water supply again. Newkirk was getting edgy at being watched all the time, and Hogan had to speak firmly to him a few times.

"It's just not fair, mate," he said, unhappily eyeing the third glass of water he had downed that day.

"Unfair or not, it's war, Newkirk. Come on, down the hatch," Hogan encouraged him.

Newkirk drank down his mid-afternoon glass and went down in the tunnel to divvy up the daily portion of water. Midway through handing out the quarts of water, he began to yawn.

"I think izz time…for a li'l kip," he said in a garbled tone, before sliding down onto the floor and falling into a heavy sleep.

"Damn, we have to get him out of the tunnel!" Le Beau cried, running to grab his arms. "_Alors_, he's heavy!"

They struggled to get him up the ladder and let him fall to the floor. Hogan, who was sitting at the table studying some maps of the area, looked up.

"Okay, Kinch, put the signal up," he said. "The rest of you – pretend to be asleep."

Kinch ran to the window and threw a red blanket onto the clothes line. The three guys who were standing there, throwing a baseball to one another, disappeared instantly in three different directions. Hogan watched as his men found positions that would look natural – on the floor, on the edge of their bunkbed, sitting around the table. He then slumped back in the chair himself, his eyes shut.

A second later, the door burst open and the Gestapo came marching in. They systematically walked around, knocking those who were in their beds into a prone position, pushing Hogan forward so that his forehead hit the tabletop. They pulled blankets off the bunks and threw them over their bodies.

"Sweet dreams," came Hochstedter's crooning, sickly sweet voice from the doorway. "See you in about two days."

They left. Hogan counted to one hundred eighty to himself – three minutes. Then he let one eye flutter a little bit open.

They were alone. The Krauts didn't even bother to leave a guard on duty. Moving his head imperceptibly, Hogan looked over to Newkirk, who was snoring in a thick, nasally voice. The sight of the drug's effects made Hogan feel squeamish that he made the British corporal the camp guinea pig.

But he remembered what he had told Newkirk before, not an hour ago. This was war and there were sacrifices to be made.

Hogan slowly rose, signaling to his waiting men to stay put. Soundlessly, he moved over to the door and inched it open. The Gestapo goons were busily hauling the German guards away. Schultz was giving them some trouble, but they didn't want to leave him out in the snow, so three men were pushing him along on his back, as though he were a huge sled.

"Snore like Newkirk for a few more minutes," he softly instructed his men. "Then we'll head out."

The sound of fake snoring filled the room. Hogan watched as the guards were put into their quarters. Then his eyes widened as he saw the front gates swing open and a convey of military trucks begin to move inside.


	6. Foiled

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

**Chapter Six: Foiled**

Hogan's three remaining men – Newkirk was still snoring away on the floor, of course –were bundling up to go out and investigate. Hogan had wondered if they should dress in black and darken their faces, but decided against it. It was inside the POW camp, after all, and Hochstetter would enjoy any excuse to line them up against the barracks wall and shoot them as spies. Hogan didn't want to give him the chance. Or the satisfaction.

Hogan was just slipping a gun into his jacket pocket when Carter, looking out the window, suddenly jumped.

"Krauts," he called out, "coming this way!"

"Get back to where you were," Hogan hissed.

There was a moment of frenzied activity. Hogan, who took an extra second to secure his gun under the nearest mattress, watched his men settle themselves quickly, approximating sleep once more. He let his forehead slip back down onto the table just seconds before the door was flung open.

"See, Major," came the smug tones of Dr. Schmedler, "I told you no one else would be awake."

"Yah, you told me," snapped Hochshtetter. "But we definitely found that one prisoner still walking around. Not even _schläfrig_. And you don't know Hogan the way I do. The most dangerous…"

…man in all of Germany, Hogan could almost hear his men finishing the sentence for the Nazi. But instead, Hochshtetter snapped his fingers.

"Check one of them. _Raus. Raus_."

Oh, God, Hogan thought, his heart beating like a trip hammer. If he picks any one of us and uses his stethoscope, we're goners. He was desperately trying to think of an angle to avoid the impending catastrophe when Dr. Schmedler dropped down on the floor next to Newkirk.

Hogan controlled his breathing with an effort. He wanted to let out the huge bubble of air he had been holding in, and had to force himself to ease it out between his lightly gritted teeth. He could sense his men were having the same trouble. Le Beau had to mask it with a moan that, thankfully, sounded like a man having a nightmare.

We're being too quiet and too still, Hogan realized, and muttered a little under his breath, then shifted in his seat as though he were trying to find a more comfortable position. This let him open one eye and watch as the doctor felt Newkirk's pulse and listened to his heart beat.

"Another one in good shape, but certainly sleeping," he told the Major, who was looking around at Hogan's men with a baleful glare.

"Fine. Inject them all."

Hogan thought his heart would stop, then and there. When he found out which of the guys hadn't gotten the message and why…

"But they don't need it, Major," the doctor protested. "The amount in the water will keep them asleep for at least two days. It's not wise to give them another injection of it so soon. They could die."

"So they could die. So what? Do it now!"

Hogan's composure nearly shattered as the doctor pulled out a needle from the case he was carrying and gave Newkirk a shot. I should have thought of this, he thought bitterly, helpless to do more than sit there quietly and let the doctor knock out his men. And will the additional amount kill Peter? Could it kill Le Beau? Oh, God, what have I done?

"Do him next," Hochshetter said, snapping his fingers in Hogan's direction. "Give him two shots."

It took all of Hogan's self-control not to burst out in protest. But he knew it would be too dangerous for his men if he did.

"Two shots? No, Major, no. That is by far too dangerous. You will almost definitely kill him with two shots."

"I said two shots and I meant two shots," the major shouted back. "With what we have going on around here – I'm not taking any chances. Do it now – unless you want to be treating men on the Russian front?"

"Two shots," repeated the doctor, and slid the first one into Hogan's arm. Hogan felt the pinch of the needle and the fluid flowing inside him. He waited tensely for the next. But the doctor was doing something unexpected… there was pressure on his arm but no second pinprick.

He must be hiding it from Hochshtetter in some way, was Hogan's last conscious thought before blackness overtook him.


	7. Asleep at the Switch

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

**Chapter Seven: Asleep at the Switch**

"Yes, sir. No, sir. No, sir. But… sir… yes, sir!"

Hogan unconsciously stood at attention, his shoulders back, his chest flung out. In a second, Kinch thought, he might actually salute. Hogan's mouth was screwed tight, his eyes black and hard with anger and frustration. The staccato barking and static eminating from the radio was loud and grating.

London was usually impossible, Kinch thought – wanting more than was humanly possible nearly all of the time. But this was a new level of ridiculous, even for London.

What did they expect the Colonel to have done? There were guns, there was a doctor with his needle – how was he supposed to have anticipated that? Or prepared for it?

The sharp reprimand finally ceased. Hogan, his eyes snapping, clambered up the ladder past his men who were playing cards, striding straight into his room. The door slammed shut, the loud ricochet making the men look up at the door and then stare at one another.

"London must really be mad this time," Carter mused. "The Colonel's in a state."

Le Beau stifled yet another yawn behind his hand. He found himself wanting to drop back to sleep at odd moments and had to fight hard against the idea. His head seemed stuffed with cotton wool, and this was a full day after they had all woken up.

Because they all had only one injection, they had woken a day early – all but Newkirk, or course, who was still huddled on the floor where they had left him. Hogan, struggling to keep himself awake as he stretched past the crick in his neck, had made them get up and investigate. Le Beau remembered how useless he had felt during that reconnaissance – his eyelids drooping and his limbs still prickly and numb.

But they had found nothing. It wasn't just because they had been blundering around, either. The Krauts – and Hochshetter – had done whatever they had intended to do and had cleared out. There was no sign of them except for the tracks of heavy trucks and a single ampoule of the tranquilizer that Hogan found lying under his arm.

"What do we do now, Colonel?" Kinch asked. Hogan, looking bitterly over at the guards slumped over at the front gate, shook his head. Then he shook it again, obviously trying to clear it.

"It would serve them right if we all escaped right now," he muttered. "Just walked out."

"We could do that all right, boy," Carter said, jumping up and down at the excitement of the idea. "Head right on out. Mosey on out of here. Skedaddle. Yeah, that would teach the Krauts a lesson all right."

"He didn't mean it, Andrew," Kinch said, amused. Then, looking at Hogan's preoccupied face, he asked, "You didn't, right, Colonel?"

Hogan, lost in a reverie, shook himself. "I didn't. Not yet. But it's an idea that might be worth exploring further." Then he looked over at Le Beau, who was now sleeping on the snowy ground. "Damn it. Someone wake him up and let's get over to Wilson's quarters. I want to make sure the guys are all okay before we wake the Iron Colonel."

Wilson's report to Hogan was not good. Just as he had predicted, the trouble was with Davidson, Barnet and Le Beau, the three smallest men in the camp. "If any one of them had drunk the water and then gotten the injection, I'm not sure they'd be alive today," he said. "As it is, I'm going to have to watch Barnet in particular."

Wilson took a long time examining Newkirk, who was still asleep. "There's something else beyond a tranquilizer," he said. "Something that affects the heart. Newkirk is sound asleep, but his heart is going like a trip hammer. It doesn't make sense."

Hogan reached into his pocket and pulled out the ampoule. "Could this help us figure it out?" he asked.

"I told you, Colonel, I'm not a chemist. I'm not even a doctor. And I think we might need both here if they keep doing this to us."

Hogan nodded, putting the capsule back in his pocket. "Okay, Joe. Keep an eye on Barnet."

"Sure. And your guys should keep an eye on Le Beau. Don't let him fall back asleep during the day for the next few days. And someone should wake him up every few hours at night as well."

That wasn't proving easy. The aftereffects of the drug meant that waking up in the mornings was difficult for everyone now. Even Schultz, whose bulk should have protected him, walked around camp like a zombie.

Hogan had delayed letting London know they had slept through Hochshtetter's latest visit to the camp until he had gathered all the information he could. Two minutes into his report, General Adams on the other side of the radio started to blast him. By the time Hogan got through his report, Adams was in a state of full fury.

Pacing up and down in his tiny office now, Hogan tried to block Adams' insults from his head. But it was hard, particularly because he had spent the last day blaming himself for what had happened anyway. Adams' fury was just confirmation of what he already thought.

Outside Hogan's room, the guys watched Kinch ascend the ladder into the barracks. "What's up, Kinch?" Newkirk asked, idly throwing out his fifth ace.

As he suspected, the guys were too busy worrying about the Colonel to notice his cheating. He was about to scoop up his winnings when he caught himself thinking better of it. "Oh, I'm plumb tired of this game," he said, throwing down his cards. "Let's call it quits."

Le Beau glanced over at his friend, a huge grin lighting up his small face. "Cheating again, Pierre?"

"Can't seem to cure myself of it, mate."

"Well, keep trying." Le Beau poured Kinch a cup of coffee as he sat down. "What did London say?"

Kinch shook his head. "They were really rough on the Colonel. Really rough. And he just stood there and took it."

"That's not like the Colonel," Le Beau mused.

"Well, he's blaming himself, in't he?" Newkirk said, absent-mindedly dealing the cards again. "I mean, never mind me. But just sitting there and letting them inject the rest of you…"

"Hey!" Carter burst out. "You can't say that about the Colonel!"

In a second, all four of the POWs were yelling at one another. The tension in the room was a living thing, which seemed ready to snap. Hogan's door swung open with a bang.

"All right, all right. Knock it off!"

Hogan picked up a coffee cup and poured out a cup, then walked to the wall of lockers and stood with his back leaning against it. A sickly silence fell over the men as they realized he must have overheard why they were arguing and what they had said to one another. A mortified expresssion crossed Newkirk's face. As usual, Carter rushed in where fools would fear to tread.

"London being mean to you, sir?"

Hogan, mid-swallow, nearly choked. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that, Andrew."

"Guv'ner, I didn't mean…" Newkirk started. But Hogan waved irritably in his direction.

"Forget it!. I do blame myself. I thought the snow trick was so cute… it made me careless. Not any more, though." Hogan looked at the cards Newkirk was nervously shuffling. "Tell me. What do you do when you're playing in a fixed game, Newkirk?"

"Stack your own deck, sir?" Newkirk asked.

"Right. We need another few aces up our sleeve." Hogan walked back over to the table, put down his coffee cup, and pulled a card out of Newkirk's cuff and threw it onto the table.

The men were silent for a moment. Then Kinch asked, "So where do our aces come from, Colonel?"

"Our aces? You and I need to make a couple of calls to the Underground and to London, Kinch. And then..." Hogan took another swallow of coffee, smiling as his men's eyes watched his every move, "…then we call in the biggest ace of all. Our Iron Colonel."


	8. Stacking the Deck

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Eight: Stacking the Deck 

"Louis, I need you to go out and get a couple of guests tonight," Hogan said two nights later. "They'll be waiting out in the woods. Take Carter with you."

"_Oui, mon Colonel_," Le Beau said, rubbing his hands together. "How will I know them?"

"Recognition code is Sweet Dreams," Hogan said.

"Come on, Andre," Le Beau said. "I think our aces have arrived."

"And guys," Hogan added. "Don't take any chances, huh?"

"Us take chances?" Carter sniggered. "Huh. That's a good one. You hear that, Louis? We're only going out in the dead of night from a POW camp into a woods with armed guards ready to shoot us. And he doesn't want us to take chances. Huh."

"Come on," Le Beau said, shaking his head and pulling Carter away. "We'll be careful, Colonel."

"Chances, boy. That's a good one," Carter could be heard muttering all the way through to the other end of the tunnel.

They weren't gone long. Hogan always worried when he had to send his men out but at least this was barely an hour's wait. He knew they were back when Carter thumped at trap-door ladder leading from the tunnel into the barracks. After a quick check to make sure the coast was clear, Newkirk let them up.

They came up the ladder, chattering and laughing. Hogan and Kinch exchanged a confused glance. The reason for their merriment, however, because clear after two of the four visitors finished climbing up the ladder.

"Bouchet!" Hogan called out, surprise and delight lighting up his face. And then, "_M'sieur_ DuBois!"

"_Oui, oui_, it is good to see you, _mon ami_," Bouchet, the French underground operative who usually worked from Paris, grinned. He reached out, grabbed Hogan's shoulders and saluted him on both cheeks. Henry DuBois, a less demonstrative soul, merely spread his arms wide and smiled at Hogan and his men.

"When I heard you had need of a chemist, Colonel, I volunteered my services. After all, you saved my life when you whisked my daughter and me out of Germany after I was forced to work for the Boche. I welcome the opportunity to return the favor in some small way."

"But is it safe?" Hogan asked him, reaching out to shake the French chemist's extended hand.

"How could it be any safer? I am a dead man in Germany, you will recall – my lab here at Stalag 13 exploded. Your doing, remember?"

Hogan grinned. "That's right. It was a long while ago. Your daughter is well, I hope?"

DuBois sighed. "Yes, she's well. Driving me crazy with her choice of a man – a low-grade assistant in our chemical facility in London – but she's well."

"And _moi, mon ami_? You do not ask after anyone I might know?" Bouchet teased Hogan.

Hogan glanced swiftly at Bouchet with a quick glint in his eyes. "She's well? Safe?"

"When I left Paris a month ago, she was," Bouchet nodded.

Le Beau quickly explained to the chemist in a spate of rapid French. "Ah, _c'est bon_," DuBois grinned. "_La amour_…even in war time…"

But Hogan refused to be drawn. "What are you doing in Germany, anyway?" he asked Bouchet.

"I was here to deliver some weapons to the Underground. I arrived soon after your message came through and they were arguing, trying to figure out who would come to help."

"A tough assignment, I'm sure." Hogan's mouth turned up wryly. If he thought of all the times he had helped the Underground…

"_Non, non_. You do not _comprende_. It was not that they had difficulty in locating volunteers, it was that there were too many." Bouchet stood with his chest stuck out, tapping it proudly. "But I managed to convince them that _I _was the right man for the job."

Hogan grinned. "You're a good man in a tight spot. Thanks. Introduce us to your friends."

"Ah! This is Hans Mueller and Johann Breumester. As you stipulated, both are big men."

Looking up, Hogan saw that was true. Hans was wider and Johann taller, but both qualified as big men. "Thanks for helping us out, fellas," he said. "Kinch, go get Barnet and Davidson, will you?"

"Sure thing, Colonel," Kinch said, moving quietly past the group.

Hogan looked at Le Beau. "You know I would do the same thing for you if I only could, Louis, don't you?"

"It makes nothing, _mon colonel_," the small Frenchman said with an airy wave of his hand. "_Tant pis_."

"Carter, take DuBois downstairs in the tunnel and set him up at your lab. I'm sorry, _m'sieur_, that we can't give you better accommodations. But hopefully you can find out what's in this and how we can counteract it," Hogan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the ampoule.

"I will do my best, Colonel Hogan," the chemist said quietly, moving back down the ladder after Carter.

The door opened and with the cold came Kinch, Davidson and Barnet. "Bouchet," Hogan said, "these men will be under your orders when they knock us out. They both know the camp fairly well."

After handshakes and introductions all around, Hogan turned to Mueller and Breumester. "Mueller, you'll answer to the name Davidson and you, Bruemester, to Barnet. You'll have to rough it in their barracks until the goons spike our water supply again, then take your chances with the rest of us. But according to the little we know, your body is better equipped to take it than that of these two men. The rest of the POWs know who you are and will help you get acclimated over the next few days. Just grunt in roll call and if anyone asks – you're Davidson and you're Barnet. Okay?"

Both men grunted, big grins on their beefy faces. Hogan looked at the two smaller POWs. "You have your orders. We're counting on you, guys."

"We won't let you down, sir," Davidson said. Barnet nodded, his mouth screwed up.

"Sir, I just want to thank you," he started, but Hogan waved his hand and cut off the rest of his statement.

"Take Bouchet to the tunnel. You know the signal when our canary starts to nod off… and you know what to do."

The men clambered down the stairs. Hogan turned to suggest that someone take Mueller and Bruemeister to their barracks, when Kinch called out, "Shultz's coming, Colonel!"

"Okay," Hogan said, pointing first at Mueller and then at Bruemeister. "Davidson. Barnet."

Shultz came into the barracks, tunelessly whistling under his breath. He was clearly in a good mood. "Hello, boys!" he called out.

"Hey, Schultz!" Newkirk cried.

"Schultzie!" echoed Le Beau.

Schultz sniffed the air and turned regretfully to Le Beau. "Nothing is cooking?"

Le Beau hung his head. With the camp's self-imposed water shortage, he had no food to spare for Schultz. And while he often made the guard treats under orders, he truly enjoyed Schultz's lip smacking appreciation of his good cooking. So he was sincerely sorry.

"Ah, too bad," Schultz said sadly. Then he saw the two big men, who had backed themselves into a corner. A wary look crossed his wide face. "Hey, who's this?"

"Don't you know Davidson and Barnet, Schultz?" Hogan asked. "You might want to get your eyes checked."

"_Oui_, Schultzie. All this sleepy-bye has done something to your memory maybe," Le Beau chimed in.

"Jolly jokers," Schultz grumbled, but good naturedly. "I know Davidson and Barnet and these are not Davidson and Barnet. The Davidson and Barnet I know are little men – like the cockroach over here."

"Hey," Le Beau cried out, pretending indignation. "Who are you calling little?"

"You've hurt his feelings now, is that nice, Schultz?" Newkirk scolded him.

But Schultz was not to be deterred. "Come on, boys, what's going on?"

"It's a Santa Claus competition, Schultz," Hogan said. "The guys have been eating more to see who gets the honor of being Camp Santa Claus."

"_Sinter Klaus_? Ah, that's nice," Schultz smiled.

Hogan gestured to Kinch to back the two Underground operatives out the door. "You might want to enter the contest yourself, Schultz. You'd be a natural!"

"I am making Christmas cookies for the winner!" Le Beau sang out. "All beautiful shapes and sizes…"

"And maybe… strudel?" Schultz asked, a longing light in his eyes.

Le Beau laughed. "The way to your heart is through my strudel, huh? Just for you, then, Schultz – if you win, I'll make strudel, too."

The door shut. Schultz looked around. "Hey, where did they go?"

"They got worried when they heard you might enter the contest – went to try and fatten up some more," Hogan told him.

Schultz patted his stomach complacently. "They've got to work hard now, haven't they?"

Newkirk's laughter was just lightly tinged with malice. "They haven't got a prayer, mate, not against you."

"Ah! Colonel Hogan, I am almost forgetting. Colonel Big Shot wants to see you in his office."

Hogan zipped up his leather coat. "He want anything in particular, Schultz?"

"Do you think he tells me anything? No, no. Anyway, I like it better this way. This way…"

"You know noth-ing, noth-ing," Le Beau laughed. "We know!"


	9. The Last Ace

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Nine: The Last Ace 

Hogan found Helga at her desk, busily typing up reports. He leaned in for a kiss. She tried to duck, laughing, but he'd placed his hands on the desk on either side of her and she couldn't avoid him. He kissed her once, then once again, enjoying the sensation of her friendly lips.

"You're terrible, Colonel Hogan," she giggled.

"Now is that something to tell a man who's just kissed you?" Hogan complained.

She looked up at him. "You look better," she said.

"Better?"

"You've been walking around camp looking worried the last week or so. I notice these things, for all you men just think I'm a — what do you Americans say? — a dumb blonde."

He looked at her with new respect. "I never thought of you as a dumb blonde, _liebchen_. All this extra sleep hasn't been bothering you?"

Helga shook her head, blushing. "They call me each time and tell me not to come in the day before. I report to Gestapo Headquarters in Dusseldorf and work in the typing pool until everyone here has woken up."

Hogan's eyes narrowed. "Really?" But before he could ask anything else, the door to the inner office swung open.

"Colonel Hogan!" wafted Klink's prissy, offended voice. "When I ask to see you, I do not expect to be kept waiting!"

"Coming, Kommandant!" Hogan said, throwing the man a mock salute which Klink returned in all seriousness.

Hogan strode into the office, sitting down on the edge of Klink's desk, helping himself to a glass of schnapps from the glass decanter sitting on a silver tray. "Can I pour you one, Colonel?" Hogan asked Klink hospitably, tilting the glass in his direction.

Klink plucked the drink from his hand, poured the schnapps back into the decanter, and moved the tray to the top of his filing cabinet. "I did not invite you here for a comfortable little chat, Hogan," he said sarcastically.

"You didn't?" Hogan said, as if crestfallen. "But I look forward to our little chats!"

"Yes, well, never mind that now. Get off my desk, would you?" Klink said, irritably motioning in the air around him.

Hogan rose, as if aggrieved. Klink fluttered about the desk, straightening the papers Hogan had been sitting on. As he did so, Hogan studied the contents of the desk. Reading upside down – and in German – was one of the accomplishments that made his head ache, but after all this time he was good at it. Nothing but minutiae crowded Klink's desk.

"Well, what did you call me here for, then?" Hogan asked. "I'm a busy man, Kommandant. And all this extra sleep lately really has been cutting into my free time…"

"All this sleep!" Klink moaned. "Tell me, does your head hurt constantly now? And your throat hurt?"

Hogan looked at the Kommandant with compassion. "Yeah, it sure does," he agreed. "I don't know why you put up with it. After all, you're a colonel and Hochstetter is just a major…"

Klink threw up his hands. "Hogan, you know as well as I do that Hochstetter is Gestapo and that means more than mere rank. And," he bent over his desk, lowering his voice, "this project has the highest possible clearance. Why…" Hogan leaned in, encouragingly, "…I don't even know what it's all about!"

Hogan shook his head. "That's just wrong, Kommandant. They're not giving you the respect you deserve. The respect the camp deserves. After all, don't you have the best prison record in all of Germany? No escapes? Sure, that must mean something."

Klink sat down in his seat, moodily staring up at his senior POW. "I know, I know."

"And aren't you afraid of what the brass in the Luftwaffe must be thinking of you?" Hogan prodded him.

"What do you mean?" Klink quavered, an element of trepidation entering his voice.

"Why, they must be wondering why you're not doing more to defend the men under your command. If our places were reversed…" Hogan trailed off.

"Go on," Klink encouraged him.

"…well, _you_ know, Kommandant. I'll bet General Burkhalter is sitting in his office, making a black mark on the calendar every day that cowardly Colonel Klink is letting the Gestapo walk all over him and his men." Hogan made a ticking motion with his hand. "Check, check, check."

"Do you really think so?" Klink worried.

"Think so? Why, I'm certain of it, Kommandant. And besides the welfare of your men, think of the reputation they're stealing from you. If we don't escape while you're sleeping on the job, soon they're going to be wondering if the Iron Colonel really deserves his title. They'll say, it doesn't matter who is in charge of Stalag 13. And before you know it…"

"What? What?" Klink demanded, his voice rising in a panic.

"…you'll be on guard duty yourself, on the Russian Front, and some Gestapo Major — maybe Hochstetter himself — will be in your office, drinking your schnapps and smoking your cigars!" As he reached this crescendo, Hogan reached behind him, poured himself a drink, and downed it, in one quick motion.

"I _knew_ it!" Klink snapped. "Major Hochstetter is just using this project as an excuse!"

"So what are you going to do about it, Kommandant?" Hogan goaded him.

Klink slumped back in his chair, his eyes shut. "What can I do?" he moaned. "I called General Burkhalter the first day and all he did was laugh."

"He's setting you up for a fall, Colonel," Hogan insinuated. "After all, if you do too well, he'll _have_ to promote you. He should have promoted you before. Why, if I were you…"

"Yes?"

"I'd go over Burkhalter's head. Go straight to the Luftwaffe High Command and lodge a protest. The welfare of your men is at stake here… and your ability to do your job and the respect your command deserves is being compromised."

Klink shook his head quickly back and forth. He looked, Hogan thought, eyeing him consideringly, like a chicken in a farmyard that isn't finding the right feed among the gravel rocks. "No, no… we don't do that in our air force."

"Colonels don't…. generals, of course…."

"Generals?" Klink said, ambition shining in his small beady eyes. Definitely a chicken, Hogan thought to himself. "You really think?"

"I don't think, Kommandant — I know!" Hogan said.

"I'll do it!" Klink crowed, his hand on the heavy black phone on his desk. "_Fraulein_ Helga, get me the Luftwaffe High Command!"

Hogan tipped his cush cap back on his head, took another quick drink from Klink's decanter, and let himself out of the office, swaggering just a bit.


	10. Discoveries

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Ten: Discoveries 

The next day, several things happened in quick succession.

Hogan kept on the lookout for Helga. He knew that she usually arrived just before nine in the morning, getting off the bus that brought her from Dusseldorf to a farmhouse about a half mile from the camp. Usually, one or the other of the guards ran out in Klink's command car and brought her in, particularly if the weather was bad. By nine thirty, Hogan was reliably sure that she wouldn't show up until the next sleeping episode was over.

Then, as he leaned back against the barracks door, wishing he could drink another cup of coffee, blowing on his hands in the cold and dreaming up all the ways his current plan could go wrong, Carter poked his head out of the barracks.

"Colonel?" he said. "DuBois has something he wants to tell you."

"I'll be in in a moment, Carter," Hogan said, with one last glance out at the gate before moving inside.

DuBois was sitting at the table, a few pages spread out before him. "Colonel Hogan? I think I've deconstructed the chemical make up of the formula that's making you all sleep."

"Good! Can you come up with an antidote?" Hogan asked, staring down at the indescipherable mathematical squiggles and chemical symbols on the page.

"In time…" DuBois said. "But you should know that this is no simple tranquilizer."

"It's not?" Hogan said, pulling out a chair and sitting down before the chemist.

"No. I don't know how they've done it, but this formula is a chemical time bomb. Have you ever wondered why everyone seemed to go to sleep at once, even though the Nazis certainly can't be sure they've drunk the water at the same time?"

"Now that you mention it…" Hogan said. "…you're right. I didn't think of that."

"No. Well, there's a triggering mechanism that is very finely tuned. A true feat of chemical engineering. Somehow, you can tell the drug to take effect at exactly the same time, just so long as you've had a drink or even just touched water within 24 hours. It's peculiar. And also — very dangerous."

"This has to be what the top secret project is," Hogan realized, smacking himself on the forehead. "What a sap I've been!"

"I'm sure you're right, Colonel," DuBois answered. "The more I analyze this drug, the more certain I am this is a form of chemical warfare."

"Chemical warfare?"

"Think of the effect mustard gas had on the troops during World War I. That was a form of chemical warfare. This is much more dangerous — because it is much more insidious. You can slip it into the water supply of a battalion of soldiers, and you've won a battle without firing a single shot. You can slip it into the reservoir of a civilian town or city — and walk in and take over, again bloodlessly."

"We have to get this information to London," Hogan said.

"I've distilled my notes into a condensed format and your sergeant is already relaying them. You told me that there is an antidote, so that must be my next goal, to find it. Oh, and Colonel?"

"Hmmm?"

"There is a great deal of danger to all of you in repeated doses of this drug. Your man, LeBeau, may be the first to experience it. I had a conversation with your medic, um…"

"Wilson," Hogan supplied.

"Yes. And he is correct that the drug does something strange to the heart, particularly to smaller men."

Hogan swallowed. "Well, I hope that after today we'll never have to take it again," he said. "If my plan comes off."

"Which means I must get back to work," DuBois said, scraping his chair out as he rose. "I will take my leave of you now."

Hogan rose as well, putting out a hand. "Thank you," he said.

"Not yet," DuBois replied, already frowning in concentration. "Thank me when I've found the antidote."

Hogan went back outside, turning up the collar of his leather bomber jacket. It was getting cold again and it smelled like snow. When does it not smell like snow around here? Hogan thought idly, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. Then he stopped letting stray thoughts distract him and put his mind back to work on ironing out the details.

A few minutes later, Kinch stuck his head out the door. Hogan saw the look on his face and took the two steps over to him.

"London," Kinch said, stepping outside, shutting the door behind him, and handing his commander a folded piece of paper.

Hogan opened it up and smacked his forehead. "They've got to be kidding!" he exclaimed.

"They're not," Kinch said. "I made them repeat it three times. Finally, I got a very exasperated _lef_-tentant on the other end of the line." Kinch let his voice slip into his most ornate Oxfordian accent. "I don't know what to tell you, old boy," he mimicked. "I realize it's a rum go for you chaps. But it's _frightfully_ important you obey orders, wot?"

"Do they realize this means the end of everything?" Hogan asked. "The camp, the operation, everything?"

"We always knew that was a possibility, Colonel," Kinch said, serious once more.

"Okay," Hogan said, refolding the piece of paper and slipping it into a pocket. Kinch could tell that he had made up his mind about something — and it was evident that he would not be telling his sergeant what he was thinking. "Tell Bouchet I need to have a chat with him."

"Sure thing, Colonel," Kinch said. He was about to head back into the barracks when the opening of the gate caught both men's eyes. They swung around and watched as a black command car came barreling into the compound, gravel skittering as it came to a halt outside Klink's office.

"Ah!" Hogan said, as General Burkhalter eased his bulk out of the back seat, followed by Major Hochstetter who looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. Dr. Schmedler slunk out of the other side, standing and looking around at the camp as the car drove off, blinking rapidly. Klink, as though on cue, came running out onto the porch before his office, gesturing receptively with his swagger stick and fixing his monocle in his eye all at once.

"My talk with Bouchet will have to wait, Kinch. I'll come in after I've seen what's going on in there," Hogan added, with a flip of his chin toward the three men.

Burkhalter serenely ignored Klink's profusions of welcome and sailed on past him into the office, elbowing the Colonel and making him stagger a little. Hochstetter showed him, with one acid-laced "Hah!" how he felt, and followed Burkhalter into the office. Schmedler scuttled after them. Klink, masking his annoyance with his widest smile, followed them in.

"We'll listen in, Colonel," Kinch murmured and headed inside.

His chin jutting in determination, Hogan started across the compound.


	11. Klink's Office

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Eleven: Klink's Office 

"…so you see, Klink," said Burkhalter, his expansive stomach protruding as he leaned back in Klink's own chair as Hogan let himself into the office, "…your little phone call to Luftwaffe High Command was ill advised."

"But I have a responsibility to my men," Klink whined. "I was thinking only of them!"

Klink was sitting on the edge of one of the office chairs and Schmedler was plying his stethoscope on the colonel's bared chest. Hogan smirked as he noticed how Burkhalter was carefully _not _looking in that direction.

"Bah!" Hochstetter burst out. "You were thinking only of yourself! I should have you shot…"

At that, Klink sat upright, waving Schmedler away. "You can't do that… I was just doing my duty… General Burkhalter, _tell _him he can't do that!"

Burkhalter sighed, his eyes closed. "Sometimes, Klink, I wish I _could_ let him."

"Yes, but then he remembers your perfect record, Kommandant," Hogan chimed in. "And then he realizes how important you are to the Reich!"

Burkhalter burst out laughing. "Important… a POW Kommandant?"

Hochstetter, however, was not amused. "What is this man doing here?" he demanded. "Hogan, how did you get in here?"

"Well, I looked around for Helga but she wasn't there," Hogan said. "She sick, Kommandant? My men would like to send her a card if she's sick. We like Helga."

"She's… I don't know," Klink muttered. Schmedler was looking into his ears. Hogan felt a flash of sympathy for the German colonel — it must feel embarrassing to be examined in this way in front of others, particularly when the doctor was making such disapproving noises as he conducted the exam.

"She's been assigned elsewhere — just for a few days," Hochstetter snapped. "So you can save your sympathy, Hogan."

"Assigned elsewhere?" Klink said, blinking rapidly. "What do you mean, Major? By whose authority?"

"By mine," Burkhalter said smugly, stretching a little. "Doctor, what have you to report?"

Schmedler straightened up, looking a little worried. "Too many side-effects. Tinnitus, heart palpitations, swollen glands, headache."

"Well, if we were to keep dosing Germans, that would be of concern to us, doctor," Burkhalter nodded. "But as it is…"

"General!" Hochstetter burst out. "Must I remind you that this is a top-secret project? And that we have an enemy of the Reich right here in the room with us? Not to mention a complete and total numbskull?" he added, looking balefully over at Klink.

"Hey," Hogan called out, indignantly, "who are you calling a complete and total numbskull?"

"He means me, Hogan," Klink admitted wearily.

"Oh, that's all right then," Hogan grinned as though relieved.

"Yes, that's all right… well, no, it is not!" Klink said, his own indignation rearing up. "Major, you should apologize for that!"

"Bah!" Hochstetter called out.

"In any case, Major," Burkhalter said, interrupting the incipient spat, "it is up to _me_ to decide on the risks of Hogan — and even Klink — knowing what is going on."

"That man is the most dangerous…!" Hochstetter stopped mid-exclamation, seeing Burkhalter's eyebrows raise. "As you say, General," he capitulated, his face drawn into an uncomfortable simper. "As you say."

"Hogan, have your men been feeling poorly lately, like Klink and many of the guards?" Burkhalter asked him. Schmedler inched closer, his stethoscope in his hand, pointing it at Hogan.

Hogan instinctively backed away from the doctor. "We've been the same, General. Whatever it is you're doping my men with has been making us feel quite ill. It's a violation of the Geneva Convention to use my men as guinea pigs in this way, you know."

Burkhalter smiled broadly. Hogan often wondered if the scar the General wore so prominently on his face — his trophy from his Heidelberg years — ever hurt him when he creased it like that.

"When we Germans win the war, Hogan, there will be no more Geneva Convention. So it doesn't bother me to violate it now."

"Well, sure, if you win," Hogan said musingly. "And I guess if you don't, you'll be hung for war crimes anyway, won't you? So I can see why it doesn't bother you."

Burkhalter's smile faltered, then flared out more widely than before. "He who lives shall see, Hogan," he said philosophically.

"We're wasting valuable time," Hochstetter muttered.

Burkhalter sat up, pushing the chair back and smacking his hands flat on Klink's desk. Klink jumped a little at the unexpected noise. "True," said the General. "Hogan, we have no time for you now."

"Hogan, disss-missed," Klink said in his most authoritative tones.

Hogan shrugged. "Okay, Kommandant. I just wanted to tell you that I'm afraid I can't control those of my men who have been waking up early." He turned and began to walk out.

"Who have…what?" Hochstetter cried out, clearly taken aback. Hogan kept walking.

"Hogan!" Klink called. Hogan paused ever so slightly, then kept going — more slowly now.

"Hogan!" boomed Burkhalter. "Halt or I'll have you shot!"

Hogan turned back, pretending surprise. "What? Oh, sorry, General. I thought I was dismissed."

"What do you mean, Hogan — those men who have been waking up early?" Burkhalter asked.

"Well, you know. The drug seems to ease off some guys earlier than others. Not the Germans, though," Hogan smirked. "We started to notice that it was always the POWs who got up first. And then the escape committee met…"

"Klink!" Burkhalter boomed at him. "Why do you permit these men to _have_ an escape committee?"

"Why, General, they don't tell _me_ when they meet," poor Klink stammered.

Burkhalter shook his head impatiently. "Idiot!" He sighed. "How much earlier do you POWs wake up, Hogan?" he asked

"Earlier and earlier. Last time, it was almost a day earlier. Why, we could have waved goodbye to your trucks as they drove out of camp, Major."

"Could have… waved goodbye… to our _trucks_?" Hochstetter gasped, appalled.

"Sure, you know, Major. That long row of military vehicles you brought in here while we were all sleeping."

Hochstetter's eyes flashed. "Doctor! Do you hear that?"

"It is inconceivable, Major. The dosage has been raised each time," Schmedler stated flatly. "I will need to conduct some tests on these men."

Burkhalter leaned over Klink's desk. "I think our good Colonel Hogan is bluffing," he said.

"Bluffing? Me? Nah. I'm a lousy poker hand. Ask any of my guys."

"Colonel Hogan, if the General says you are bluffing…" Klink started.

"Shut up, Klink," Burkhalter interrupted him. "Hogan. Admit it. You saw the treads left in the frozen ground from the convoy and decided to make us all worry a little in here. It was very clever but it didn't fool _me_," he added smugly.

Hogan shrugged. "If you say so, General Burkhalter. All I can say is, you need to be careful there isn't a mass escape around here the next time we all fall asleep."

"Major! You will post extra guards on Hogan and his men while they are sleeping! There, Colonel, that should take care of your little prison break."

"But I must examine them!" Schmedler said. "If they are becoming immune to the dosage, it will require additional calibrations."

"And you will have your chance, Doctor," Burkhalter said. "Hogan will permit you to examine him now."

"Yes!" Hochstetter crowed. "That will give us some answers. Go right ahead, Doctor."

"Hey!" Hogan cried out. "I'm not letting him paw me again. That quack…."

"Hogan," Klink ordered, "you will do as you are told. Let the quack paw you."

"Klink!" Burkhalter boomed out. Klink, startled, looked at him like a deer in headlights. Burkhalter shook his head. "Forgive him, doctor. He's an idiot."

"Yes, yes," Klink nodded, wearily, sinking down into his chair with his hand waving in surrender to his dignity. "I'm an idiot."

"And a very unhealthy one at that," Schmedler muttered beneath his breath, fumbling in his bag for his instruments. "Come over here, Hogan."

"Can't a guy have some privacy?" Hogan whined. "I mean, really!"

"If a colonel of the Reich can submit to a public examination, Hogan, you can, too," Burkhalter told him. "Go ahead, doctor."

The doctor brought his bag close to Hogan, opening it and setting it close to him. Hogan saw a flash of green inside the bottom of the bag. The American colonel winced as the doctor's sour breath bathed his face while he looked into his eyes and then his ears. Then Schmedler told Hogan to strip off his shirt.

Hogan seemed to have trouble with his shirt button — the sleeve got caught and the entire shirt somehow got spread over the doctor's bag for a moment before he managed to free himself. Tsking in irritation, Hogan bundled up the shirt and pushed it beside him. Then he settled down, complying with the examination.

Schmedler took his time and it was nearly a half hour later that Hogan was finally dismissed. He whistled as he walked out the door and saw Newkirk on the porch, sweeping.

"Take this to DuBois," he said, slipping him a vial of the antidote. "Tell him he needs to come up with enough for the entire camp by tonight."

"I'm proud of you, sir," Newkirk told him, beaming. "The shirt trick I taught you?"

Hogan laughed. "Go on. We haven't much time."


	12. Sleepwalking

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Twelve: Sleepwalking 

"Colonel. Colonel Hogan. Wake up."

Hogan struggled to open his eyes. "Hello, Bouchet," he said. "Everything go according to plan?"

"Yes. We have reconnoitered and I have photos of the operation that can be developed and sent to London. I can take you right to the lab now."

DuBois stood beside him, an empty vial of antidote in hand. "You are feeling all right?"

"A little sick to my stomach. Nothing to complain about. A lot less fuzzy headed than I have for days, though. "

"Good!" the chemist said. "It's working then."

"How long before the Krauts wake up?"

"Probably about an hour. Maybe two. I haven't learned how the chemical calibrations quite work yet. And how the antidote you doped the water with last night will affect that."

"Are Davidson and Barnet waking up the men?"

"They're about to," said Bouchet.

"Okay. Tell them to get my guys up first, so they can lead our little escape." Hogan laughed. "You know, this stuff really would be useful to the Allies."

DuBois shuddered. "You wouldn't think so if you understood the chemistry of it. This is an immoral use of science. God forbid men actually began to use such means."

Hogan shrugged. "You're probably right. Anyway, the three of us are about to make sure they don't. You have what you need?"

DuBois picked up a heavy attaché case. "Everything's in here."

"Okay. Let's go then."

Hogan took one last look at his men as Davidson and Barnet walked around, injecting each of them. He felt sick seeing them lying there so helpless at the whim of the Germans and realized DuBois was right. Such methods should never be used in war.

He led Bouchet and DuBois out of the barracks. They slid around the line of military vehicles that were lined up between them and Klink's quarters. "Bouchet? Where is the lab set up?"

"They use the camp recreation hall, Colonel," Bouchet whispered back. "There are just five men."

"They are led by Appelmeister," DuBois said scornfully. "A brilliant but twisted scientist. He was thrown out of the _Academie de Sciences_ ten years ago for conducting filthy experiments on student subjects. I can see he has not lost his taste for trying to manipulate human chemistry."

Hogan shuddered. "You're sure what you've cooked up will neutralize their formula? Because if not, I have orders from London to blow up the lab. We can still do that instead."

DuBois nodded, touching the attaché case. "This should do it. Trust me, Colonel, blowing up the lab would not matter in the end, unless you killed Appelmeister as well. He keeps his formulae in his head. You are right to try and discredit the attempt rather than just destroy it."

Hogan swallowed hard. The thought of his orders from London had been chasing around his head like a mosquito he couldn't quite catch for days. Adams was already on his back for this mission — he was going to have to perform some fancy footwork to avoid a court martial. Then he swatted the thought away again. London wasn't here and if they couldn't trust him to do the right thing, why, they could bring in someone else to do it. And then see how far they got…!

"Colonel?" Bouchet whispered. "We're ready to go in."

This was going to be the most interesting part of the escapade. Hogan nodded, unzipped his jacket, messed up his hair, and stuck his hands out in front of him. He started off, singing slightly off key, in an unfocused, breathy way as though he were actually singing in his sleep.

"OutSIDE the barracks by the corner light. I'll always stand and WAIT for you at night.

We will create a world for TWO. I'll wait for you the whole night through. For YOU, Lilli Marlene. For you, Lilli MARlene…"

Suddenly there was a shout. Willing himself to keep moving forward, he sang, louder now, "Bugler tonight, don't PLAY the call to arms. I want another evening with her charms. Then we will say GOODbye and part. I'll always keep you in MY heart. With me, Lilli Marlene…With ME, Lilli Marlene!"

Then he started to repeat the chorus — "With me, Lili, Lili, MarLENE, With ME, Lil… Lil…"

By now there were three Gestapo goons surrounding him, their weapons at the ready. Hogan ignored them and kept walking "With LILI MarLENE," he warbled, walking onward.

"_Vos ist los_? Halt, you!" one of the guards shouted.

"He is _schlafend_ — asleep!" another one cried.

"Sleepwalking!" the third one said. "Do not wake him. It can be dangerous…"

"I want another evening with her CHARMS," Hogan sang. He kept moving away from the rec hall. Behind him, Bouchet and DuBois were heading into the lab. He hoped they could do what they needed to before these trigger-happy Krauts shot him.

"Call Appelmeister and Schmedler," one of the guards said, as they followed Hogan warily through the camp.

"BUGLER toNIGHT," Hogan trilled. "GoodBYE Lil… Lil…"

Elsewhere in the camp, Hogan knew his men were leading the others into the woods, where they would hide for an hour or two. Then the regular Germans should wake up. He needed to stay alive to sound the alarm.

Someone touched his arm. "Outside the BARracks by the corner light… oh!" he opened his eyes and looked around, bewildered. "Where… where am I?"

Dr. Schmedler looked at him warily. "You were asleep, Hogan. Sleepwalking. Do you have a history of sleepwalking?"

"Huh? Um… Jeez, it's cold out here!" Hogan complained, zipping up his coat. "Hey, I know you. You're the Kraut doctor that keeps putting us all to sleep."

"Is he awake?" the other man in the lab coat asked. Hogan looked at him. There, in a huddle in the background, were three other lab coated men. With any luck, he had pulled them all out of the lab and given Bouchet and DuBois a free ride. Now it was his job to keep the Germans away.

"Do you have a history of sleepwalking, Hogan?" Schemdler asked again.

"Yes," he said, hanging his head. "When I was a kid, I'd be outside in the streets, singing like crazy in my pajamas. The kids used to make _such_ fun of me!"

"You were singing now, too," Appelmeister asked. Hogan looked him over. He was a fat, balding man with a large chemical stain on his face and a cold light in his bulging, crystal blue eyes. Not someone you wanted to be alone with in a lab. "Do you remember singing?"

"I was singing?" Hogan asked. "Wow. That really takes me back. There was one time…"

"Do you want to tell me what you were dreaming about, Hogan?" Schmedler asked.

"Now you mean? There was this lamp post and I was standing under it. Waiting for a date. But then there were a million soldiers waiting in line with me. The line stretched out forever. And it was just one girl." Hogan stumbled, then shook himself. "Anyway. Who're your friends, doc?"

"This is Dr. Appelmeister, Colonel, and his assistants. They have been working on a little experiment here."

"Hey!" Hogan cried. "Are they the reason we've all been put to sleep so much?"

"What is going on here?" roared a familiar voice. Hochstetter came out of Klink's quarters, moving quickly toward them. "What is this man doing here?"

"We're just trying to find that out now, Major," Schmedler said. "He was walking through the camp. Sleepwalking."

"Sleepwalking, is it, Hogan?" Hochstetter snarled, looking Hogan up and down skeptically. "A likely story. I should have you shot…"

"For sleepwalking?" Appelmeister sneered.

"For spying on our operation here while pretending to sleepwalk, doctor. You don't know this man as I do. I tell you, he is the most dangerous man in all of Germany."

"A prisoner of war, Major? Surely you jest."

"Bah!" Hochstetter cried. "You've done it this time, Hogan. This time you were just too clever. Take him and shoot him."

"Major," Applemeister interposed, "if you're going to kill him anyway, give him to me. He looks like an interesting subject."

Hogan had to grip his jaw shut to stop from showing his sudden, involuntary flash of nausea. He narrowed his eyes and studied Applemeister's face. There wasn't a glimmer of compassion in it – just the cold, excited look of a scientist being given a brand new lab rat.

"Yes…" Hochstetter drawled. "I would enjoy thinking of what you might do to him. He's all yours, doctor."

"I kind of think Colonel Klink will have something to say about that," Hogan suggested.

"Hah! That numbskull? What does it matter what he has to say? I caught you red handed, spying on a top-secret operation. You're a prisoner of the Gestapo now."

Hogan felt a chill coursing up the back of his spine. Play it out, Rob, he told himself. There's more to come.

"Take him into the lab," Applemeister said.

One of the guards pointed his rifle at him. "_Raus_," he ordered. Hogan, his hands raised, walked forward.


	13. The End of the World

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Thirteen: The End of the World 

Hogan's eyes widened as he was led into the camp recreation room. The Krauts, in their usual efficient manner, had turned the wide open space into a pristine lab facility. Obviously, the military trucks had hauled in the equipment needed, set everything up and then dismantled everything again. Hogan wondered for a moment why they had felt the need to do so, but then figured that it must be because of the nature of the project. For them to go to these measures made it even clearer to him that he must destroy the project's credibility not just, as London had ordered, blow up the lab.

"What time is it?" Hochstetter asked.

"Just two o'clock," Applemeister replied. "They should be here at any moment."

Hogan's ears perked up at that. What he had planned would play even better with an audience. If DuBois had timed this right, that was…He noticed that there was a group of chairs set up in one corner of the room, and a table laid with refreshments against the wall. He shut his eyes for a brief moment and sent up a fervent wish that all the pieces might fall into place.

"And how much longer should the camp sleep? All except our dear Colonel Hogan, that is?" Hochstetter said, a sneer on his face.

Schmedler smiled. "We have at least a day and a half left."

"_Gut. Gut._ Hogan, you'll sit there. You –" this was directed at one of the guards – "go and bring General Burkhalter and the others here when the cars arrive."

"They are driving through the gates now, Major," said the guard.

"Then, _raus, raus_!" the major commanded. "You are all ready, doctor?"

"Certainly," said Appelmeister coldly. "You need not jitter so, Major."

"Bah!" Hochstetter said, walking toward the door.

In a moment, a group of German military brass, led in a smiling General Burkhalter, entered the lab. Hogan looked them over curiously. He recognized all but one or two of them and realized that this was a very high level party, indeed. If London had an inkling that they were gathered at Stalag 13 today, Hogan thought wryly, he wouldn't give any odds for the camp's survival. POW camp or not, this group would call for the ultimate sacrifice – even if that included bombing Hogan and his men into oblivion.

But London did not and would not know until the group had dispersed. Hogan noticed that his pulse had picked up when they entered the room and told himself coldly to stop it. You know a few things they don't, Rob, he told himself. If the timing works out….

Most of the men were greeting one another and sitting down. Some were helping themselves to food and drink. As Hogan watched, he felt someone knock against him from behind. Something small and light was slipped into his palm.

"You would rather take this than be Appelmeister's subject," a bitter breath whispered into his ear, "Trust me."

It was a cyanide pill. Hogan watched Schmedler walk off. This was the second time Schmedler had tried to help him — even if this time it wasn't the kind of help Hogan wanted. Hogan pursed his lips, thinking hard. Perhaps, when this was all over, he should undertake the effort of recruiting Schmedler for the Allies. The guy only needs a strong mouthwash, he thought to himself, and one corner of his mouth rode up.

He pocketed the cyanide pill and went back to watching the bigwigs. General Burkhalter suddenly noticed him. Eyebrows raised, he strolled over.

"Colonel Hogan? What are you doing here, I wonder?"

Hochstetter, who had been keeping one eye on Hogan as he fussed tending to the generals' needs, hurried to join them. "Hogan was caught spying, General Burkhalter. He is no longer a prisoner of the Luftwaffe. He is now my prisoner."

"Spying, Hogan?" Burkhalter asked. "I'm surprised at you."

"They tell me I was sleepwalking, General," Hogan said. "I don't remember anything except being woken up in the middle of the compound. I think I'm being framed, myself."

"Very likely," Burkhalter shook his head. "Unfortunately, Hogan, you picked the wrong project to sleepwalk into. I'm afraid even _my_ authority won't get you out of this one."

"Dr. Appelmeister plans to use Hogan as a test subject, General," Hochstetter said, rocking back and forth on his heels in delight at the thought.

"Appelmeister does? Do yourself a favor, Hogan, hang yourself the first opportunity you get." Burkhalter pursed his lips. "I'm almost sorry to see you end this way. It has been — amusing — knowing you, Hogan. My visits to Stalag 13 will not be the same."

Hogan tried to think of a funny rejoinder, but for once his famed wit almost failed him. But then he managed, "Yeah, well, the amusement has been completely mutual, General."

Burkhalter had half turned away, but stopped at that. One thing about Burkhalter, Hogan thought wryly, is that he has half a brain where so many of these other goons have none at all. The general snorted in acknowledgement of Hogan's riposte and headed back to the refreshment table.

"Gentlemen," Doctor Appelmeister said. "Welcome. We have completed our work here and are ready to present to you the future of warfare. Please be seated."

There was the usual milling about. Several of the brass decided this was a perfect time to pick something up from the refreshment table. Others seemed to see new friends as people began to settle down. It was just like any social gathering for these guys, Hogan thought bitterly. He looked over at the rack of water barrels. The fate of the world may be in those barrels, and here they are helping themselves to more schnapps and another hors d'oeuvre.

Finally, they were all seated. Hogan was perched at the very front of the room and every time he tried to swivel around in his seat, some guard stuck a rifle sharply in his back. He could only keep his eyes front and pray. How long had it been since he had first woken up? DuBois had said then that it would be one or two hours before the German guards and Klink woke. Had it been an hour? Had it been closer to two?

What would he do if his plan didn't work at all?

Hogan reached a hand into his pocket and felt for the cyanide pill. He let it slip out of his fingers and onto the floor, where he crushed it with his foot. There, he thought to himself, now he had to find a real way out of this.

The scientists had gathered around a table set up in the front of the room, which contained some lab equipment and several beakers of water. Hochstetter stood by the side of the table, beaming at the chemists and the assembly. Burkhalter stood at the other side, waving and smiling at people in the seats. Hogan closed his eyes.

"Good afternoon!" Appelmeister said. "This is an auspicious day for the Third Reich, for today we end the need to fight with weapons that kill and maim. Today, it is tender sleep — sweet dreams — that will lull our enemies into surrender. We will rule the world through sleep!"

"What's going on here?" came a querulous voice from the door behind them. "Who are all you people? What are you doing in my camp?"

It's Klink, Hogan thought, gratefully, letting out his pent up breath. My last ace has arrived!


	14. Waking Up

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Fourteen: Waking Up 

"What's going on here?" Klink repeated. He flinched as he was surrounded by Gestapo guards, all pointing rifles at him. They brought him up to the front of the room.

"Klink!" Burkhalter's voice boomed over the sudden hubbub in the crowd. "You idiot! What are you doing here?"

"He is not supposed to be awake yet!" Schmedler asked. "The water was dosed so that he would not wake up for — at least another day."

"Seems to me, doctor, that you need to do some work on those calibrations," Burkhalter said, both a reproof and a threat in his tone. "I sincerely hope you have not had me gather the generals for this demonstration prematurely."

"Colonel Klink!" came a wheezing, huffing voice at the entrance to the recreation hall. "They're all gone! All of the prisoners! No one is in the barracks! Not one!"

Schultz, Hogan thought, sitting back comfortably, finally enjoying himself. If Schultz is awake, all of the Germans must be up and running around. Well done, DuBois!

"Gone?" Klink moaned. "My perfect record — in ruins!"

"Hogan!" roared Hochstetter, swiveling around to stare at the POW. "What do _you_ know about this?"

"Hogan?" Klink asked, bewildered. He craned his neck to see past the Gestapo guards. "Hogan, why are you sitting there like that?"

"Bring him here!" Hochstetter roared.

"I must examine the water," Appelmeister cried. "There is some mistake here."

Klink was ducking and weaving to avoid the doctor's clammy hands as Schmedler kept trying to get his stethoscope on his chest. Hogan was hauled out of his seat by one of the Gestapo goons and pushed up to the front of the room. Schultz, perspiring and out of breath, came closer and stood looking around curiously. Burkhalter was standing, his arms folded over his capacious stomach, fuming. Hochstetter was waiting for Hogan to be brought up to him, his eyes blazing.

"What have you to say to us, Hogan?" Hochstetter started in. But Burkhalter intervened.

"Klink! Did anyone wake you?"

"No, General," Klink stammered. "I woke up all by myself. I saw all the trucks outside and came over to see what was happening. A lot of my guards were around and I saw Schultz and asked him to check the barracks."

"And they are all gone, Kommandant!" Schultz interjected. "There are Gestapo guards stationed everywhere, but the prisoners – they are all gone."

"This is your doing, Hogan!" Hochstetter screamed. "You will pay for this!"

"My doing, Major?" Hogan asked. "How do you figure?"

"You tampered with the water somehow. You made the camp wake hours before they were supposed to! And we will discover how, Hogan. Never fear – we will discover exactly how you did it…"

"Well," Hogan said, slowly, "I do have a confession to make."

There was total bedlam at that statement. The German generals in the audience – who had inched up as the group in the front grew more and more frenzied – leaned forward to hear what the American colonel would say.

Hochstetter cried, "Hah!"

Burkhalter shook his head. "A confession, Hogan? You surprise me again."

"Well, General Burkhalter, I really thought we could get away with it. But now that the Iron Colonel is awake… I know we can't. So I'm going to confess in hopes I'll gain clemency for my men."

"Your men?" Hochstetter shrieked. "I don't care about your men! Let the whole camp go missing… tell me about the water. The water, Hogan!"

"I'm the Iron Colonel," Klink informed the assembled group, just in case someone in the audience might not catch the inference. "Colonel Wilhelm Klink of Stalag 13. The only POW camp in all of Germany with a perfect record. Not one escape. Never. Not one."

"Not until today, idiot!" Hochstetter bellowed. "Hogan…!"

"Now, be fair, Major," Hogan said calmly. "It's not Klink's fault my men escaped. _He_ was asleep. _You_ were the one in command of the camp, if I'm not mistaken."

"That's _right_!" crowed Klink. "It's not my fault they escaped. It's _your_ fault, Hochstetter. And Hogan even _warned_ us that they'd try."

"Klink, shut up," Burkhalter snapped. "Exactly what _is_ your confession, Hogan?"

"I really wasn't sleepwalking," Hogan said. "I admit it."

"See!" Hochstetter yelped. "He _was_ spying."

Hogan shook his head. "Nah. I was helping my guys escape."

"Oh, Hogan…" Klink said plaintively, shaking his head, looking pained. "You should have known better than that!"

Hogan let his head drop to his chest. "It was only because I thought Kommandant Klink would sleep for another day or two. If I had any idea that he'd wake up sooner, I'd have found a way to talk the guys out of it." Hogan raised his eyes to Klink's face. "Colonel Klink, I'd like to take Schultz and go get them. I know where they're hiding until nightfall. I can bring them all back safe and sound. But I want your solemn word that you won't punish them – too much."

"Very well," Klink capitulated. "Not – too much, Hogan."

"This man is not going anywhere!" Hochstetter burst out. "He is an enemy of the Third Reich and a spy! _And_ a prisoner of the Gestapo."

General Burkhalter shook his head. "No, Major. He is not. He is a POW of Stalag 13, a camp that up until today had a perfect record…"

"My doing!" Klink preened happily.

"…which you have shattered by your incompetence. If Hogan is willing to allow his men to be recaptured, I for one will allow him to remain at Stalag 13."

During this conversation, Appelmeister had been checking the various beakers of water in the lab. He turned now toward Hogan, his blue pop-eyes blazing with fury.

"There is something wrong here. This water has been tampered with. It is useless! Useless!"

"Yes!" screamed Hochstetter. "The water has been tampered with!"

"Are you so sure of that, Major? After all, wasn't security your responsibility?" Burkhalter drawled.

Hogan watched, amused, as Hochstetter swiftly and mercilessly recalculated. "You must have done something wrong, Appelmeister! This is _your_ fault! You told me everything was ready!"

Appelmeister flashed an electric blue glare in Hochstetter's direction. "You do not want to take that tone with _me_, Major! I have good friends in high places."

"That may be, doctor," Burkhalter said. "But after today, I believe you'll find most of them won't admit to it. Schultz!"

"_Jawohl_, Herr General?" Schultz asked, coming to attention.

"Go get a few men and have them destroy all of these barrels – spill the water into the grounds. This experiment is officially deemed a failure, Appelmeister! Gentlemen," Burkhalter said, swallowing hard as he turned to his illustrious audience, "it appears that we have wasted your time bringing you to Stalag 13 today. My apologies. My subordinates," here Burkhalter gave Hochstetter, Schmedler, and Appelmeister a fierce glare, "will have much to account for. Please do help yourselves to refreshments before you depart."

Schultz bustled out.

The generals rose, milling about, laughing a little at what they had just seen. Burkhalter watched them carefully for a minute, then took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"Klink!" he called out. "Tell Schultz to take a truck and Hogan and return with the prisoners. We don't want to add any escapes as part of this unmitigated disaster."

"No, we do not!" Klink crowed. "Hogan, you will go with Schultz…"

"He heard me, Klink, you idiot," Burkhalter said. "Hochstetter, you will report to my office with Appelmeister and Schmedler in the morning."

Hogan quickly made up his mind and stepped behind Schmedler. "Be in the compound in an hour," he murmured. Schmedler stopped himself from looking around and gave a tiny nod.

Schultz came back with a contingent of five guards. "_Raus_," he told them.

Hogan watched, real satisfaction on his face, as the barrels were carried outside and dumped. Hochstetter came up behind him.

"I will discover the truth of what happened here today, Hogan," he said between tightly clenched teeth, "and then you will pay. I promise you – you will pay!"

He hustled off to his command car, got in, and drove off in a fury. Hogan grinned, watching the gravel and snow spurt up from his rear tires.

"You are amused at this afternoon's events, aren't you?" Appelmeister asked, coming beside him.

"Wouldn't you be, in my place?" Hogan asked genially.

"Perhaps. But you have made one fundamental error, Colonel Hogan. I have a very short list of enemies – very short and getting shorter all the time. You have just added yourself to the list."

Hogan's eyes widened. "I'm a prisoner of war in a _Luftstalag_, Doctor. I hardly think I'm worthy of your threats."

"No?" Appelmeister stood back, studying Hogan as though he had him under a microsope, turning his head this way and that for a long moment of contemplation. "Perhaps you are right. And… perhaps you are not."

The chemist slowly made his way back into the lab to supervise Hochstetter's men as they packed the equipment back on the trucks. Hogan realized that Appelmeister's threat made him feel more uneasy than he had felt in a long time. But he shook off the feeling as Schultz came up to him.

"Ready to go, Schultz?" he asked. "Come on, I'm ready."

"Colonel Hogan?" Schultz asked, as they climbed into the truck, "I have a feeling you have been a naughty boy again."

"You may be right, Schultzie," Hogan said, enjoying every bump in the road as the truck drove through the gates and he directed Schultz to turn left. "You may be right."


	15. Coda

_No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater._

Chapter Fifteen: Coda 

"Yes, sir. No, sir. No, sir. But… sir… yes, sir!"

Hogan stood ram-rod straight, his eyes glittering black with anger. Kinch, manning the radio, looked away from him, toward the wall. It was an act of friendship, because it was the only way to give Hogan privacy as he endured this tongue-lashing from London.

A tongue-lashing that he definitely did not deserve.

Whoever this General Adams was, Kinch thought, he had no idea of life in the trenches. Guy sounded like the worst type — a pencil pusher who was out to prove that a war could be fought "by the book."

Absolutely the worst type of commander for Colonel Robert E. Hogan.

The call finally at an end, Kinch finally looked over at the colonel. "They don't get it, do they?" he asked.

Hogan looked like he was ready to punch through the wall. "No, they do not," he said, shortly, turning to ascend up the ladder.

"Colonel?" Kinch called. Hogan glanced back at him. "There was some good news before you got here. DuBois got Schmedler safely back to London. And Bouchet got back to Paris. He said to tell you — all's well in Paris."

There was a noticeable loosening of Hogan's shoulders. "All's well in Paris. Well, that's good to hear," he said. Kinch grinned at the softness that entered Hogan's eyes at the message. As Louis Le Beau would say, _la amour_…

Hogan ascended the ladder, his fury abated somewhat. Schmedler had taken exactly two minutes convincing to defect to the allies, and Hogan had sent him back to London with DuBois. London would come up with something for the doctor to do.

"Why did you risk helping me, anyway?" Hogan asked him, just before he was about to send the two of them to meet with the Underground operative who would bring them to the pickup site. "Not giving me the second shot?"

Schmedler giggled a little. Hogan stared at him. The guy still gave him the creeps. "I am not what you would call a nice man, Colonel Hogan, so don't make the mistake of thinking I am. Sometimes my conscience chides me, however. That was one of those times."

"You can usually silence your conscience?" Hogan asked, curiously.

"Oh, yes," Schmedler nodded. "It's just too inconvenient."

Hogan sent the two men off with some misgivings. DuBois did say, rather grimly, that he'd keep a careful eye on the doctor. Apparently he had. Now Schmedler would be London's headache.

Thinking of London reminded him of that idiot, that General Adams. After all he had done… to be called on the carpet like that for not obeying orders was just ludicrous. Hogan shook his head. He had disarmed a serious threat to the Allies and discredited their work in using this form of — what had DuBois call it? — chemical warfare. That was on the plus side of his personal ledger. And he had done so without a single one of his men being hurt, including poor Newkirk and LeBeau. Another plus. But on the minus side — there was Adams and there was Appelmeister — two very formidable opponents out there waiting in the future.

Oh well, he said, shrugging as he walked out into the compound and over to the rec hall. It was nearly Christmas and the guys were having a little holiday celebration — with Schultz in his Santa Claus costume. Davidson and Barnet, they had told Schultz, had withered away in despair of winning the contest, and the prize was his by popular acclaim.

As he entered the rec hall, his men sent up a shout in his direction. Klink was in a corner, drinking some punch and benevolently looking over at the men. Hogan joined him.

"Nice little party, Hogan," Klink complimented him.

"Thank you, Kommandant," Hogan said, picking up a glass of punch. He grinned to see Schultz handing out Red Cross candy bars as presents. Each one seemed mysteriously stuck to his fingers, and LeBeau had to remind the guard of the special Christmas cookies and strudel waiting for him when he was done handing out the treats. And then remind him again.

For a brief moment, Hogan let himself relax. What had Bouchet said? All was right in Paris? It was only the briefest of respites, but all was right in Stalag 13 right now as well.

Hogan saw Kinch come in and join the men. He raised his glass high and cleared his throat.

"Fellas!" he called out. "I'd like to propose a toast."

"A toast!" went up the cry. "Shut it for a second, you guys!"

Hogan smiled. "Here's to all of you. Happy Holidays — and may any dreams you have from now on be Sweet Dreams only."

Laughing and cheering, the guys drank up. Someone started singing and the others chimed in. Hogan drank his punch, set it down, and joined the singers.

-the end-

_Thanks, everyone, for reading and reviewing — it's been fun!_


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